Living Flame
by Cryocontrol
Summary: Indefinite Hiatus (Quality isn't as good as I would like it to be) Fire is an interesting element, so many are claimed by its flames. However, in the hands of a wizard it takes a much more sinister appearance (Rewrite)
1. Kindling

_Sorry for the massive delay, not going to make excuses here I just couldn't motivate myself to sit down and write for a while so it's been done in increments. I won't be uploading this till the second chapter finished so chapter 2 has been done for maybe a week when I upload this one. So don't leave reviews asking for stuff in chapter 2 or if it will happen, chapter 2 is already done._

 _Chapter 2 is alot better than chapter 1 imo but I'm still fairly happy with this._

 _Tried to take a different approach in this one compared to the original and I'm a lot happier how this turned out. He won't go Firelord mode until later, it will be gradual. I don't want to spoil_ _the story so you'll have to wait and see._

 _Word count is the same for chp 1 + 2, I'll try to make the others longer though so stick around for that_

* * *

Harry Potter, a small eight-year-old boy, ran out of the doorway to 4 Privet Drive. Sprinting past the neighbour's hedges, proudly displaying his ripped clothes to all who would look, he turned the corner of the road. Despite his enthusiasm Harry Potter was not a boy many would say has a reason to be happy. Because, in the normal house, on the normal street, in the normal town, an injustice was being dealt towards him. So much so that if the other occupants learnt of this disgrace against a young boy they would be filled with disgust and loathing for the other three occupants of the house.

But then again, who would bother to look? Nothing was suspicious and even if it was Harry would never admit it himself. No matter who implored him to testify or confess he would never give in. People always said he had a fire inside him, and he put that to helping people. So, no matter what they did to him, he would always make sure they never got into trouble, they were family.

Harry always tried to make friends at school, after all, he can help them do their homework and play with them. Friends can only lead to good situations, right?

"Hello, I'm Harry!" He cheerfully said to anyone in his class who would listen, everyone reacted differently to this. Some of them looked terrified at the mere prospect of talking to him and started nervously glancing around stuttering slightly in their reply.

"Sorry I h-have to go" or "Nice to m-meet you but I'm busy" or some other excuse which Harry had catalogued fully onto the wall in the room where he slept. The wall had little space left on it. Sometimes, however, the boy's would look at Harry with anger and tell him to "go away brat" or "shove off nerd". These horribly scathing comments, which would lead to problems in any other child fazed Harry little, he figured if he made friends with the boys then they wouldn't be so mean anymore.

* * *

Harry potter, a visibly unhealthy eleven-year-old boy limped down the street towards his school, alone, somehow still managing to express the brightest smile many of the residents of the blank town had ever seen. Moving past line upon line of white picket fences and freshly cut lawns he reached the corner and turned, only to be greeted with the one thing he didn't want to see.

Lurking outside the school was a group of four boys, all with backpacks slung over their shoulders. One of them made his way towards Harry, his short blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. This boy, Jacob, was taller than Harry and was well known in the school as a bully although he never went after Harry, Harry never figured out why.

Harry saw him coming and ran back around the corner, his face contorted into an expression of horror. Then he realised, he had nowhere to go. He could hear Jacob's steps, casually striding towards him. He could count them as they got closer, one by one; agonisingly slowly. He could hear the boy chuckle as he came closer. Closer, closer the fear raced in his heart. Jacob reached the corner.

Harry was to shocked to say anything, to do anything, except stare into the cold blue eyes which had already mounted a sadistic glint. The smirk on Jacob's face held its position as he stared at Harry. He opened his mouth and already Harry could hear the icy edge he always seemed to carry.

"Good dogs know not to run away" Any courage Harry possessed withered as Jacob stepped forwards, towards him, still smiling.

"Because I'll always catch them"

* * *

 _"Ragnaros has perished. but the primal powers he represents can never be vanquished. another will rise to power, someday"_

The noise from Dudley's computer echoed into the closet, quickly waking Harry. How he was able to play on a screen all night confused Harry, who had never been let near one, but he was curious as to who "Ragnaros" is.

After hearing the heavy footsteps of Dudley lumbering across the room he braced himself, a good idea because the closet shook from Dudley dropping onto his bed. Opening the creaky mould covered door he was greeted with a display of perfection. Everything was perfectly cleaned, even the closet door, which he had never paid close attention to, was beautiful, at least on one side. Making his way up the stairs, not making a sound due to the strange brown furred carpet they had installed on the stairs.

"How did they get the money for that?" He wondered to himself as he reached the door to Dudley's room.

Already Harry could see the computer through Dudley's ajar door, which, had been slammed so many times you could see it slipping off its hinges. Stepping towards the source of the artificial light dancing across the room and out the door, Harry saw a strange site. On the screen, ignoring the human wearing some sort of armour "A knight?" Harry thought, was a creature seemingly made up of flame. He was a giant compared to the knight in front of him and had shoulder pads which erupted with a bright orange flame at the top. The weirdest part was his head, which, looked like a disembodied skull had been set alight, and also had the same white-orange flame on the top.

"Maybe It's hair," Harry thought to himself as he stared at him, but something else struck Harry as he gazed into the screen. "Why is he lying down?" Answering his own question he looked into the bottom left corner and saw some strange red text. It appeared to be the same thing he heard earlier.

 _"Ragnaros has perished. but the primal powers he represents can never be vanquished. another will rise to power, someday"_

"Is he Ragnaros? That means he's dead?" Harry was stunned, how could a little human defeat something literally made of FIRE?

"I don't know what 'primal' means but I guess he has fire powers?" He said out loud, to shocked to control himself. "I want fire powers as well, the teachers always said I was as bright as a flame anyway".

Ragnaros, which Harry had now decided was an awesome name, was vanquished. Harry knew that meant gone or dead from his English class. So feeling a bit proud he looked at the last bit again.

"Can I get the fire powers he has? That would be so awesome". In Dudley's room, at 2am in the morning, Harry made his decision. Perhaps if someone would've told him who Ragnaros was and what he did or that he isn't real something else would've happened, but no one wants the freak to play a computer game or know anything about something fun, it was their fault.

"I want to be just like Ragnaros when I'm older"

* * *

 _The next chapters will be longer (about 2-5k words each) but I really wanted to get something out for you guys now._

 _I know in this chapter I mentioned the Cataclysm expansion which was not out in 1995 (nor was Wow) so just pretend that it's July 2011._


	2. Spark

_Hope you enjoy chapter 2, trying something a bit different. Reviews are always welcome, and btw I don't own Harry Potter or any reference to WoW_

 _EDIT: After a really helpful review from Pietro99 I decided that the quality of writing in this story doesn't live up to what I wanted, after a little deliberation I chose to rewrite and add to this chapter before I continue, In light of this the next chapter may be slightly delayed. Hope you understand and thanks for reading._

* * *

Inside a castle, in Scotland, an ancient man paced around his room, lit by flickering candles his room stood out against the flashes of lightning covering the horizon. On the old man's bookshelf lay an orb, this orb, so inconspicuous in nature, was created using the blood of a boy. Worried whispers ran through his mind as he stared into the eye of the storm. The orb mirrored the boy's feelings that night, it's pale red light contributing to the eerie glow of the room, trapped inside a veil of darkness.

"Why does no one care about my birthday?"

Whilst the orb was glowing red the same boy, who's feelings were reflected in it, would have gladly embraced said orb, the mere thought of light comforting him, relaxing his muscles. Even at the age of eleven, he lay in a darkened closet, longing for the ability to see again, to unravel the cloak of darkness of which he was constantly under; no one came.

"I do"

No one ever came, but someone spoke.

The boy, clearly hearing the disembodied voice ringing through his head looked around for someone, anyone to place it upon, although in his mind he is already content with just a voice.

 _"It's better than nothing"_

The boy didn't have any friends, he didn't have any money, the only thing he possessed which was valuable were memories of a raging inferno inside Dudley's bedroom; Ragnaros.

"Who are you?"

The darkness of his mind fled at the thought of company, he could finally see.

"I don't have a name"

The voice was smooth and flowing, the voice was guttural and constant. The voice sounded like the crackling of a fire and the sizzling of hot coal. He could smell the smoke drifting out of its words. But more than anything-

"It's ok, I don't either"

The voice was burning.

* * *

The boy didn't get let out often, he didn't mind as much anymore. The voice kept him company, all day, all night. He called it Fire because it sounded like that. The voice called him Lord because he was that. He was the creator, the one that gave life to the entity, no matter whether it was real or not.

It lit up the blackness he was engulfed into daily. It darkened the light which harboured the other boys, the perfect balance, the perfect friend.

One of the rare occasions he was allowed to go outside was a Wednesday, maybe fate shined as bright as the sun that day. In the midst of the monotonous grind of cutting the various bushes and mowing the lawn, but still enjoying the brief respite from the darkness, the boy spotted an owl perched on top of the house.

As the owl stared at him, he noticed a letter tied to it's feet. The owl spread it's wings and gracefully glided down, sitting atop the freshly cut swathes of grass. The boy picked up the letter, his sweaty hands dampening it already. Ripping the paper open he looked in confusion at the scribbling, but still recognising it as a 'letter', the same thing the other humans got.

"Fire, what does this letter say?"

After the incident with Jacob the Dursleys decided to ban him from school all together. When he was born no muggle birth records were ever made, the only way he could go to school in the first place was due to Uncle Vernon's 'connections'. Despite this the boy suspected he was only allowed to attend school to try and get him away from the house.

He couldn't read to any kind of meaningful level, the lack of schooling did that to him. He hadn't had to read in years, nor write. Any knowledge he had could only be awakened by practice, no practice was ever available though. Fire could read and write though, maybe Fire could teach him how to do those things which the other humans did so regularly.

"Invitation, to attend a magic school, lord."

Fire always said he was better. Not a human but a being, an entity above them, their lord. The boy didn't listen. Fire could call him lord, he understood why. But to place himself above other humans? To rule over them due to some sense of warped vengeance? No, he would never agree.

"Where do we need to go Fire?"

He hopped up eagerly, a spark leaping from the bonfire where it was contained for its pitiful existence. Worthless, but with the potential to start a blazing inferno, if left alone, untamed.

"London, Leaky cauldron, lord."

The boy frowned, the others wouldn't drive him. Fire would but Fire couldn't drive, Fire couldn't exist but in the void of despair. The boy longed to reach in and latch onto him. To pull him into existence, or if that was not possible, to retreat into the void along with his friend, forever.

"How will we get there?"

The name on the letter, Harry Potter, the same as the boy's name. Two people can have the same name, parents, even life but end up so differently. So many don't deign to think that their vision of another being, the being's fate, is not in their hands.

"Someone comes, lord"

Knocking is a foreign custom, at least to the ones who came from the other world. The tall burly man came towards the boy, his words difficult to comprehend. Upon Fire's reassurance the boy went with the man, leaving his closet behind and opening the door.

Cauldrons are interesting, the boy had no idea that 'cauldron' was another word for a building, but the mass of people guarding the brick wall inside the cauldron seemed to support that. Was it always sunny outside? He only went out to cut the hedges and it was always during the blazing heat, Fire said it shouldn't bother him, so it didn't.

"I wonder what I will learn at school?" The boy turned his head to the side, gazing intently at a brick wall.

"'Arry 'ar you talkin' to me?" The boy paused and looked up. He was confused at the question, how could someone think that he was talking to them? He wasn't looking at them, he wasn't even listening to them. He was talking to Fire, he always talks to Fire,

"Not you; Fire." Immediately The tall one was alert, looking around frantically for a fire, although also confused at Harry's tone. However he said nothing about that, the boy-who-lived was strange but he couldn't help but be attached to his endearing expression already. He would be more than happy to guide this boy through the alley no matter what happens.

* * *

The tall one was surprised at Harry's attitude towards the alley, instead of gaping in incomprehensible disbelief as he expected the boy simply instead nodded at the many stores on the path up to Ollivanders. It was almost as if the boy was talking to someone, but that couldn't be the case, Harry potter would have enough friends to not need some imaginary one.

Splitting off from the path he Harry he was off to buy him a pet, a kind soul like Harry would love a snowy owl and he would make sure Harry got it, even if it came from his own earnings.

The boy entered the shop labelled 'Ollivanders', as soon as he entered the room he could not help but gaze in wondrous awe at the oak shelves filled to the brim with boxes. The stairs leading up onto the balcony seemed to lead to more boxes, perhaps the rarer ones at the back. Sitting in front of the boy was a clean desk, a clear contrast to the state of the rest of the room. On the desk, open, was a white book with a small golden bell beside it.

Ringing the bell seemed to summon an old man from behind one of the bookshelves.

"Ah Harry Potter, I wondered when I'd be seeing you here"

After a long and tedious process of him being given a wand before Fire telling him it wouldn't work followed by an explosion he was given a holly wand with the core of a phoenix feather.

The boy didn't want a wand, Fire said he didn't need one. His magic couldn't be controlled by a stick, no matter what lies inside of said stick. Fire liked phoenix's though, he said his wand was fine, for now. A tool to forge a greater purpose, the boy just smiled at his friend, he was always right.

"This one is fine, Fire told me"

The wandmaker smiled down at the boy, he had a great destiny ahead of him. Just like his parents before him, he would go on to do great things, great things indeed.

Exiting the shop he turned towards the shop labelled 'Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions', a bit of a lengthy title but nevertheless the 'appropriate clothing' was a requirement to attend this school, which Fire so strongly suggested was a good idea.

The clothing that the school required was wildly different and when he entered wearing his old, ragged clothes he had several scornful stares directed towards him, at least until they saw his scar.

"Hogwarts dear?"

The boy simply nodded in response, that was the school he was attending. However he quickly realised that this was a mistake as the women went it some sort of overdrive, quickly gathering different swathes of black fabric.

He saw her hurry him over to a mirror before putting one of these robes onto his head. Maybe this was all some sort of nefarious plot to kill him? The black waves of fabric meant to smother him and deafen his cry for help? He mentally screamed, no one heard, except Fire. For in the walls of darkness, a spark of fire singed the fabric.

"These robes will be just perfect for you young man"

The smiling matron of the clothing store gazed in disbelief at the boy-who-lived who graced her store. She was so enamoured with his presence that she was still smiling even as he left, leaving her to wonder why Harry Potter even came to her store in the first place instead of the other ones, and why he was alone.

After Hagrid returned to the store the black haired child was waiting outside, his back propped up against the wall, once again talking to himself.

"That is not dead which can eternal lie?"

The boy seemed to be questioning himself, the man sent to escort him shrugged it off, he made a promise earlier and he wasn't going to break it over something as trivial as this.

The rest of the boy's words were drowned out by the crowd. The giant of a man ignored what this and quickly gave Harry Potter his gift, before proceeding to lead him back to the leaky cauldron to rent a room for the night.

* * *

The boy stood alone on platform nine, looking around for the supposed platform nine and three-quarters. In fact, if it weren't for Fire pointing out the gateway he probably would've never found it. As he made his way towards the wall a family of red haired people appeared from the other side of the pillar, they also seemed to be going through the gateway.

The crowd of red haired humans gathered outside the link to the magical world, collectively staring in wondrous confusion at the black haired child. Harry Potter's eyes glinted with kindness, an emerald dream that was yet to be corrupted by the black of humanity.

The youngest male of the group was looking closely at his scar, clearly enamoured with the mystical boy-who-lived, a feature of many of his bedtime stories. It was a dream of his to make friends with the boy, and now he could be his best friend!

"Do you need help getting through the barrier?" The mother of this family asked Harry, her voice ladened with a motherly tone which came out despite her looking at the two identical ones suspiciously.

The green eyed child listened to no one, no one that truly mattered. He chose to listen to the anomaly, the rift in his world; why? Because it entered the building before the doors were rebuilt, before the window was shut.

"Fire told me how."

The small red head looked at Harry Potter, his sentence changing. He didn't want to offend the amazing person before him. He opened his mouth, his mind finally settled on a question.

"Who is fire?"

Harry stopped and stared at the red haired boy, they didn't know who Fire is? Why can't they hear him speaking?

"They don't know. They don't care, lord"

The black haired boy looked down, frowning. He just wanted to enter the pathway between worlds. He didn't want these people to know him; not anymore. Fire told him they don't care. That means they don't care. He walked towards the barrier, he didn't like being mean to anyone. He would never be mean to his best friend though, he would always listen to him.

 _"No more questions"_ The boy drifted away into the wall, the torrent of noise disappearing from his senses only to be replaced by an equally loud rush of sound. his vision focussed onto the train, maybe he can make some other friends. Only if Fire likes them, though. The familiar voice echoed through his mind, relaxing his muscles, soothing his doubt. Fire was always there, Fire always helped.

"And with strange aeons, even death may die, Lord"


End file.
